Nothing To Say

For the first time in months, I find I have nothing to say.

Last week saw the culmination of the last year of my life. From the moment I started thinking about going to Moscow and what that would mean, a chain of events began that didn't end until last Monday afternoon, when I walked out of that apartment for the last time, turned in the keys, and said goodbye. Up until then, my life had been redefined and re-shaped by that one decision, and everything else in my life--every decision and every choice, every day--produced a further alteration. I had a life established, and every aspect of that life was affected.

Now, that life is gone though the decision remains. Now, my life will form around the choices I've made instead of be destroyed by them.

Since Monday, I've been on quite a mental vacation. I have done nothing significant. I washed some clothes and I saw a fantastic movie (Pan's Labyrinth). I went to work, made some money, and went home again.

At first, I was a little concerned that I wasn't doing anything with myself. I began to fear that I was falling back into sheer anti-social laziness. But then it occurred to me just how stressful this last year has been on me, especially these last few months, and I decided it's okay that I took a few days off. As long as I get back to the grindstone this week, that is.

Working hard, in my current case, is under the same category as changing my diet to lose weight, as I've done recently. It's okay not to stay within the strictest interpretation of what I'm trying to achieve, as long as I spend 80% of my time being good, and only 20% being undisciplined, lazy, and selfish. Once the habits become better established, I'll move it to more like 90/10.

I successfully lost and kept off weight. Now I must do the same trying to get an agent for the rest of my time in Dallas, and learning Russian. Thinking of how much I've grown up and changed this last year, I think I can do it.

Time will tell for certain.